


Summertime

by Dashboardjuliet



Category: The Daevabad Trilogy - S. A. Chakraborty
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-10
Updated: 2020-01-10
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:47:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22201336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dashboardjuliet/pseuds/Dashboardjuliet
Summary: Dara cries during sex. That's it, send tweet.
Relationships: Darayavahoush e-Afshin/Nahri
Comments: 1
Kudos: 23





	Summertime

In the quiet moments, sometimes she still thinks that he’s gone. That her mother has him under that spell, that he can’t break free. That they are forced to be on opposite sides of a war that neither of them wanted to be a part of in the first place, but fate had forced them into. A quick glance out of the corner of her eye, to Dara’s sleeping form next to her, confirms that all of her fears aren’t true, at least not anymore. He’s here, with her, and everything that transpired in Daevabad is in their past. Gently she reaches out to him, fingertips tracing the profile of his face while she watches him, the glow of a new sunrise filtering into their bedroom through a small window. 

They’ve settled on the Nile, a compromise (if it could be called one) between the two of them. She fought, staunchly and unwaveringly, for Cairo. The city was and would probably always be her home, and her blood called for the hectic clatter of the place she’d grown in. Dara had wanted solitude, something far away from civilization and anything that could bother them. She understood that, slightly, but the isolation would have been too much for her. She wasn’t social by any means, but she needed to be surrounded by a place that lived, that thrived on the energy of the people that inhabited it. And so they’d found a small house, nothing resplendent but not lacking anything they would need, about half an hours walk away. Close enough that she could still hear the noise echoing out into the sand, but far enough away to suit Dara’s need to be alone in the world, at least for a while. 

And while she traces his profile, fingers lingering along the ridge of his nose to his forehead then dipping down to rest on his cheekbones, she can somewhat understand why the seclusion is nice. He’s been through so much, so much that she doesn’t know about or could honestly probably never comprehend. The ghosts in his head are probably noisy enough for him, the people from his past having made sure that he could never truly be at peace again. Even her mother, and she wants to spit the word from her mouth, let alone ever think it, did a number on him. Her heart bleeds for him, and she likes to think that she doesn’t have too soft of a heart, that everything that has been done to her has hardened her. But when it comes to him, it seems, she will always be soft. 

Nahri leans over him, and lets her hair fall to the side, creating a curtain between them and the world that is slowly coming to its senses outside of their window. Even if only for a little, she wants it to stay just them. He’s still sleeping, her touch light enough that she hasn’t drawn him from his slumber, and she can still admire him while he’s peaceful, face slack from the tightness that it normally holds. His brow is soft, and lashes long and black against his tan skin. He’s beautiful, far too beautiful for her, and she doesn’t stop herself as she leans down closer to him, close enough that she is resting on his slowly rising chest, and presses a soft kiss to his lips. He deserves to be kissed all the time, she thinks, as she moves her lips from his to his cheeks, then cheeks to forehead, and them to the spot underneath his jaw that he loves having attention paid to. 

In her movement from place to place, she feels him tense under her, and then relax. His hands come up to frame her back, and she shivers under them, their warm touch a surprise against her air cooled skin. He’s warm enough for the both of them that they normally sleep under one thin sheet, but sometimes that was even too much for her. 

“You’re insatiable.” He says, voice rough from sleep. His eyes are still closed, she notes, while continuing to suck on the spot that he likes, nursing it till she pulls away from it with a wet pop, satisfied by the mottled purple red bruise that is beginning to form. 

“Darayavahoush,” She whispers as her lips trail from the perfectly bruised spot to the opposite side where his pulse point lies. She drags her teeth over his skin lightly before she bites down on it, “is that you admitting that you can’t keep me satiated?” 

“No, that is me saying you are enjoying keeping me busy far too much.” His words are punctuated at the end by a moan, one that leaves his fingers digging into the skin on her back just a little bit harder, and the pressure is one that she relishes. It’s powerful, something spectacular, to see him coming loose at the frayed edges of himself and know that she is responsible for it. Her tongue swirls on the spot for a moment longer, laving it clean before pulling away to stare at that beautiful spot that she’s made, one that perfectly mirrors the one on the other side of his neck. They look beautiful on his dark skin, and the heady flush that is crawling up his neck to across his face. 

“Why are you looking at me like that?” He quirks an eyebrow at her, and she realizes her intentions might be clear on her face. He’s always been able to read her far too easily.

“Just want to make you feel good, that’s all.” She shrugs, and brings her face back down to his chest, tracing her tongue down his line of muscle and then moves to his nipple, and feels him seize up, his breath cutting short. She looks from the corner of her eye, and can see his one hand knot itself in the sheet of their bed, while the other comes up to twine in her hair, wrapping it around in his fist. She’s grown it out in their downtime, to the point that it reaches the dip of her back, and Nahri won’t say for sure that she’s grown it out for him or not, but she does love the burn she feels on her scalp when his grip gets too tight.

It gets close to it as she swirls her tongue around his nipple to get it stiff, and then moves to the next one, repeating the attention that she paid to his neck. By the point that she’s done with them, she’s decided her next course of action. 

She trails downward, tracing her nose down his stomach, and then further still, down to the heat that’s been growing between them, and the distinct hardness that has been making itself present, pressing into her thigh and now her stomach.

“Nahri, Nahri what are you…?” His voice is choked, tight, and his grip on her hair is getting close to enough to make her squirm. She hums in response, too dedicated to her current task to take her lips from his skin and actually speak words. His scent is a heady mix of sweat and something spicy, something distinctly him. When she’s down far enough she rests her on his thigh, the muscle underneath her head twitching from what she assumes is his quickly failing self control. 

His cock is something magnificent, which is a very silly thing to think and she knows this, but she can’t help the way her heart picks up just a bit at the sight of it. Maybe because it’s just him, her Dara, that she reacts in that way. Either way, she doesn’t hesitate to start touching him, smearing the pre cum from his head downward, tracing a vein that runs along the underside of his shaft with her thumb. She watches his face falls silent, emotion draining off of it as his head lolls back and his eyes close, and feels a girlish sense of glee at having the power to make him feel so much. 

She pumps her hand up and down a few more times, noting the way his jaw clenches. It’s the only sign that he’s being affected by what she is doing, and she’s determined to get more of a response out of him. He’s always so closed off when it comes to emotional expression, and it’s something that she wants him to work on, but also something that he seems to be trying his hardest to avoid. She wants to hear him moan and gasp, hear every little noise that he has to offer her because he deserves the joy of that expression. Taking her hand away, she pauses, waits for him to raise his head to see what’s caused the pause. When he does, eyes clouded over with lust, she smiles at him for just a moment before putting her mouth on him, replacing fingers with lips and tongue. 

He gasps, and it sends shivers straight through her. It's a breathy, almost pained noise that she’s come to associate with him being close to losing all the tightly maintained control that he works so hard to keep. She hums in response to his noise, rubbing her tongue repeatedly over the vein that she had been tracing with her thumb. 

“Nah...ri, I can’t…” He chokes out, his hand coming back to knot itself in her hair just right, and she welcomes back the burn of the pull. She knows he’s close, and understands exactly what he needs from her from just the few words he’s said. She releases the tight grip that she’s kept on his thighs, pinning him in place with a small semblance of control, and relinquishes it up to him. Sometimes she needs to keep power, to remind herself that she is, in fact, the only person that controls her body. Other times, she knows he needs the same, and is more than happy to give up control for him. So she relaxes, lets her eyes fall shut, feeds off his pleasure and the burn on her scalp. His grip is tight as he moves her head up and down, slowly, along his length. His breathing is labored,coming out in pants, and she hums in response to it. The motion, the easy vibration from her makes him seize up, grip going tight and a groan leaking out from him as she feels him come in her mouth, the saltiness of him not unbearable. She swallows, his hand loosens and she slowly takes her mouth off of him with a wet, slick pop.

Her head falls back onto his thigh, his hand still stroking the back of her hair. His chest is rising quickly, obviously trying to catch his breath while he stares , eyes open, at the tiled ceiling of their bedroom. 

“Feel good?” She asks, fingers tracing patterns on his belly, his muscles tensing and relaxing underneath her touch. Slowly he tilts his head on the pillow so he can look down at her, and the easy grin that has made itself at home on his lips is answer enough for her. She smiles back.

“Come here.” He motions for her to move up, sitting up to help move her closer to him. She does so, scooching up their bed on her knees till she’s sat in his lap, hands planted on his chest and knees on either side of him so she’s spread against his skin. She’s slick, but she knows that he doesn’t mind. His hands run up and down her legs for a moment before he rocks upwards, flipping her onto her back so he is leaning over her, the weight of him heavy against her. He scoots downwards slightly, wriggling a hand underneath her butt to lift her upward.

“Dara, you don’t have to.”

“And if I want to?” He questions, lips recreating the patterns that she made on his thighs, sticking his tongue out to lick a trail from her thigh upward to her center.

“Then who am I to stop you?” She complies, lets her head fall back against the bed, and feels him grin against her skin for just a moment before he puts his mouth on her, the flat of his tongue licking at her. He knows exactly what he’s doing too, because after a moment his tongue has found her clit and she’s tensing up from the attention, hips bucking up against him while she closes her thighs around his head. His one hand pulls her up further to him, while he brings his other up to join his mouth, sliding two fingers inside of her. He quirks them upwards, hits that little spot inside of her that has her gasping his name. She was already so close, simply off the reactions she had been pulling from him, that it doesn’t take very long for her, especially with the dual attention he’s paying to her clit and inside of her. She squirms, feels the tightness build low inside her belly before it explodes in a hazy whiteness that leaves her gasping out his name. 

She comes down slowly, legs unlocking from behind his head while he removes his hand from her back, placing her down gently. She’s boneless, floating, and it’s a few minutes before she would even try to speak again, which she doesn’t. She only reaches for him, which he readily answers, her arms twining around his neck to pull him down on top of her. He’s hard again, the length pressing into her lower belly, stuck between them, and in a moment she’ll be ready to go again, but for now she needs this, needs the press of his skin against her, needs the repetitive motion of her petting his hair. He’s kissing her shoulder where his head is resting, his hands skimming up and down her waist.

The casual touching is something that’s grown between them in their quiet years, now that they’ve removed themselves from the closeness of Daevabad, and all the noise that came along with the city. It’s something Nahri never would have guessed that would happen, but she treasures it, wouldn’t trade it for anything. It’s also perhaps that thing that she mourns the most. It’s taken them so long to get to this place, in which they are both comfortable enough with one another to be so open. It never would have happened in Daevabad, a city that held too much pain for the both of them. At least for her, she could have never settled there, been calm enough to let her in. If she had stayed there a part of her, no matter how small, would always be looking over her shoulder to see if she was still being watched: by Ghassan, by her mother, by whomever. But here, in near anonymity, she can be settled. And so can he. 

He’s staring at her, she realizes slowly, those piercing green eyes of his boring into her. She stares back, with what she hopes is an equal amount of attention. Whatever it is, whatever he sees in her eyes makes him settle, eyes going to half closed.

“Can I…?” He begins to ask, but he falls quiet, and she quickly puts the dots together of what he’s asking of her. This sweet man. He could take anything from her, she thinks, and she would give it gladly without him even needing to ask. But he does, he always does. Her throat feels thick, and she doesn’t trust herself to speak so she simply nods, wraps her arms just a bit tighter around him, and wills herself not to start crying.

As he slides into her, his forehead dropping down to her chest, with his hair tickling her nose and hands knotted into the sheet next to her, she thinks she would give everything for this man. Has given nearly everything, damn near her life, for him, and she would do it again and again. 

His thrusting is erratic, no exact pattern to it like he normally tries to do, seeking out her pleasure more than his. It isn’t about her, not this time, and she doesn’t want it to be. A few times he hits the right spot in her, builds her up close enough that she sneaks her hand down between them to rub at her clit with a similar ferocity of his thrusts. She comes quickly, with a breathless moan that has her throwing her head back, clenching down around him. He thrusts a few more times, seeing her through it, before he comes with a shaking gasp, collapsing down onto her, a heavy weight that she welcomes.

It’s only with the clarity of a post orgasm mind that she realizes there’s a wetness on her chest that doesn’t feel like her sweat. His shoulders are still shaking, she picks up, and his breath is short and almost hiccupping. He’s crying, and her heart breaks about a thousand times, and remakes itself with the softness of it all. She kisses the crown of his head, runs her hands up and down his back, and lets him cry. It doesn’t take long for him to push through it, it never does, but she knows he is done crying when he starts to move again. He stays mostly quiet, only pulls out from her when he’s done with his tears.

She slides a hand underneath his chin to tilt his face to hers. His cheeks are flushed, eyes red rimmed and long lashes damp. Even after crying, he’s beautiful.

“I love you Dara.” She whispers, her voice hoarse from tears unshed. 

“I know.”


End file.
